Turn Around
by cupcakesandlovefests
Summary: For as long as she can remember Quinn Fabray has had a piece of her heart missing,that piece is Rachel Berry. The girls haven't spoken in five years and both hate how things were left after high school. Quinn regrets the past,but do they have a future?
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note: I wrote this a while ago and decided to post it because I'm trying to decide whether it's something I'll continue or not. Thoughts? Feedback?**

First cigarette of the day always makes you feel a little nauseous, but after a few drags your body is at ease and gladly accepts the nicotine relief flowing through you from your head to your toes.

By the time you light up for your second the television is making white noise to cover up the deafening silence throughout your crappy little one bedroom apartment.

The third time you inhale your sweet beloved menthol you're chugging down a second cup of coffee, barely registering the scorching hot liquid burning your throat on the way down.

You're on your seventh cigarette before you even get out of your door, today you didn't even think you'd make it from the couch.

You buy another box on your lunch break, Kurt tries to convince you to join him and Blaine for coffee but you politely decline and he nods understandably as he and his boyfriend walk away clasping each other's hand.

Half way through your first stick you almost fall to the pavement as a petite brunette jogs past you, you make it to the nearest trash can just in time to throw up the morning's coffee. What a waste.

You sip water and attempt some food before going back to work. You trudge your way back through the office with a queasy stomach and stinging eyes, you sit back at your desk and hold a hand up to silence Kurt before he can get more than a single word out.

Your smarmy boss arrives and indiscreetly tells you that you look like hell. Part of you wants to cry, the other part of you is picturing ten different ways to kill him with your stationary. Instead you take a deep breath and tell him you quit.

You quickly get your things together and walk out of there, holding your head as high as you can. You dump the box onto the worn passenger seat of your 1966 Mustang and take a moment to pause.

Pausing isn't good. Pausing leaves space for thought, and thoughts only lead you in one direction. Her.

You were convinced you saw her earlier but you knew you were just hoping. After all, why would she be in LA when it's a well known fact that Tony Award winning actress and vocal artist Rachel Berry is playing the starring role in the newest Broadway version of Funny Girl.

The blare of your phone pulls you from your reverie as the light turns red. The ringtone alerts you that it's Santana; you shake your head and laugh a little bitterly. Didn't take Kurt long to inform your best friend about the latest in a string of 'bad days'. Finally the blaring dies down and you breathe a sigh of relief as you push down on the accelerator.

Suddenly some ass hole cuts across you out of nowhere causing you to have to violently swerve to avoid the oncoming traffic, a string of expletives that would make your mother pale flies from your mouth as your face turns red with anger.

At the next possible moment you pull over to the side of the road unable to drive with tears blurring your vision. To distract yourself you grab your phone going directly to voicemail, you might not want to talk to her at that very second but still you want to hear what Santana has to say.

"Didn't think you had it in you Blondie, you finally stuck it to that pig bastard! Well done, always knew you hated it there, you only stuck it out as long as you did cause' of Kurt and his comic relief. Anyway _puta _I don't appreciate being ignored but I know you might need some time or whatever. But if you don't call me by six I'm going to assume you've thrown yourself off the tallest building in town, or worse, decided that you need to be degayed by a bunch of nuns pelting you with holy water or some shit. So don't be a stranger Fabray, or Britt and I will assume it's a free for all and raid your apartment. I wants your sound system, B would just pick up Mittens and say we were done. I swear to Satan if you're dead and I have to adopt your smelly cat just to keep my girl happy you better know that you're in for it when I join you. Fuck though, Q, don't be stupid. Call me later and join us for dinner? I know you don't eat much, your thinner than me and that's saying something _niña__blanca_. Quit making us worry about your skinny ass! See what you're doing to me? You're making me babble like fucking Ber-, fuck. Look, i'm sorry I didn't mean to say that, but we need to sort this, Q. You need to sort your shit out, you know we're all here for you. Anyway enough of me bonding with your voicemail, though I know you can't act like you don't enjoy my sexy voice though. Britt said hurry cause' she's in the mood for hugging, so get to it loco! Oh and by the way, we fucking love you"

You can't help but smile over Santana's words, though the almost mention of her makes you want to throw up for the second time today. You're so lucky to have such understanding friends, and Santana's right, you really do need to figure all this mess out. It's messing with your ability to function, you just quit your job for fuck's sake and it's not like you have Mommy dearest supporting you, the regained love didn't last long when her only daughter turned out to be gay.

You grit your teeth at the memory, the cold look in your mother's eyes as she took a swig of Whiskey looking very Russell Fabray-like as she told you to get out and never come back. You managed to get together most of your belongings, the things that meant something to you anyway, before you drove straight over to Brittany's house.

The Pierces took one look at you on their doorstep, mascara running down your face as you shivered in your cardigan and they immediately yelled for Brittany and Santana. They came running and for the next few hours you did nothing but cry and they did nothing but hold you and occasionally kiss your forehead. You slept between them that night, their hands entwined but over you like they were trying to protect you. They're still your protective barrier five years later. Five years they've put up with the mess that is your life. Five years of tears, blood, anti-depressants.

Five years since you've spoken to, written or even emailed Rachel Berry. You still recieve her six monthly newsletter updating people with her latest news and show that she'd love for them to let her get tickets for. You couldn't even open it from the second year.

You want to talk to her, every single day you're driven crazy by the thought until you break and type something out but you just can't bring yourself to send it. Your draft box is full of hundreds of started messages, all untouched, unsent.

You just don't know what to say. The only thing you want to say is three little words that will guarantee she'll never speak to you again. It was never supposed to be like this, you were never supposed to fall for her. Then again you were never supposed to sleep with her either, but that wasn't just your fault. It was her fault too. She was the one that bailed the morning after leaving you to wake up alone and cold.

"It's her fault I broke"

But she never knew how you felt. For all she knew you were going to regret sleeping with her the minute you woke up and were sober again, it isn't really that surprising that she fled.

You realize you've been sat in the car for twenty minutes now. You wipe at your eyes and decide to get home so you have chance for a long soak before going to see your best friends. It's only now that you notice the box had fallen from the seat as you swerved, crushing things near it.

Fuck, you need more cigarettes.


	2. Chapter 2

"I swear to God, Fabray you blow smoke in my general direction one more time"

You can't help but grin, Santana gave up smoking on Brittany's insistence, which was of course sickeningly sweet but it doesn't mean you can't piss her off occasionally.

It's not like she hadn't dangled candy bars in front of your face when you were dieting back in high school.

The girls have only been in this apartment a year, so far so good.

They hadn't managed to make it past a few months in every other place, apparently Brittany's 3am dancing and San's random outbursts of Spanish curses (not to mention their love making) wasn't to everybody's taste. But they were doing incredibly well this time, at least for the time being.

You look up to see a pair of piercing blue eyes staring you down, your eyes don't even have to look to her mouth to know that she's frowning at you.

The cause? The amount of stubs you've already accumulated in the dish you're using as a makeshift ashtray. You sigh as you stub out the last in your box.

Brittany places her chin in her hand as she leans on the table staring at you expectantly.

She blinks and edges forward a little more to tell you that she means business.

"Q, you need to talk. And none of that small talk, I'm talking rip your heart out and slam it on the table so your two best friends can try and fix it kinda talk"

You look over to Santana who is lay flat out on the couch with her glasses on and a book resting on her stomach.

"San I love you, but if you go all therapist on me I think I might hurl, or worse, cry"

"Then cry, Quinn!" Brittany exclaims very uncharacteristically, you turn back to her. Well, that certainly got your attention.

You reach a hand out to cover hers, you swallow deeply before answering.

"If I do, there's no telling when I'll stop"

"We're not going anywhere, we have nothing to do"

You raise an eyebrow. Brittany's a sought after choreographer and Santana's completing a degree in Psychology.

Your favourite Latina holds up her hands.

"B's right. It's her day off tomorrow and I can always use a mental health day, besides I'm fucking racing through this degree, I could probably teach the class tomorrow"

You smile at her cockiness, though you know she's probably right.

When she sorted out the emotional mess between her and Brittany all those years ago she showed how smart she truly was.

It seems you're the only one that's still as messed up as you were in high school.

"If you guys are going to make me talk I'm going to need alcohol, plenty of it. And then after drinking myself into an abyss and crying enough to ruin your shirts I'll be passing out on your couch or in your bed until midday tomorrow"

"So the norm then?" San grins and throws a pillow at you, narrowly missing your makeshift ashtray.

You roll your eyes and fold your legs up underneath you.

"So?" you say gesturing to their liquor cabinet.

Brittany walks over to it and starts rooting through the mass of bottles.

"Does this occasion call for Tequila or Wine?"

"Wine" you and Santana agree in unison.

You gulp your first glass back like a shot and find the two girls staring at you.

"What?" you ask, "this was your idea, better catch up"

"It's going to be a long night" Santana murmurs before making quick work of the liquid in her glass.

You smile at Brittany who is currently sloshing the wine around her glass; you know it's definitely not her drink of choice.

"Britt Britt, you don't have to drink wine, why don't you get yourself something you like? San's not much of a wine fan but you know what she's like"

"The most loyal and awesome best friend on the planet?" Santana interjects as she pours another smaller glass for herself.

You smile.

"I was going to go with hard ass puta that also often feels obligated when there's no need to be but what you said too"

Brittany rolls her eyes at the pair but smiles as she finds herself something else to drink, delighted to find a bottle of Disaronno that she happily mixes with some soda.

"Come on then, Fabray. You're drinking from our stash so get talking"

You sigh and take a thoughtful sip of your second drink of the night.

"Where do I even begin?" you wonder because really they don't know much about the situation except the fact that you were in love with Rachel and _something_ happened before you all moved out of Lima.

Brittany has an answer for you, of course wiser than anyone would believe.

"Where everything starts, Quinn. At the beginning"


End file.
